


for i am nothing but a wilting flower

by poise



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Flower Language, Mentions of Blood, Vent?, an attempt at metaphors, flowers as metaphors, huang renjun - Freeform, lee donghyuck - Freeform, na jaemin - Freeform, relationships are platonic but u can see it however u want to, renjun-centric, similar to hanahaki but not quite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22454323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poise/pseuds/poise
Summary: honesty was never renjun's best trait.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	for i am nothing but a wilting flower

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda like hanahaki but instead of dying from unrequited love, it's dying from the absence of self love. i dont know if anyone has ever written something like this but this is just a vent fic i wrote when i was really upset so i'm sorry if it sucks

He feels every breath he takes, every muscle that tenses with each step. Something tickles his left wrist, where his long sleeves fall and hide over his pale skin. He stops in his tracks when Donghyuck tugs at his arm. “Jun, are you even listening?”

He blinks, cleary dazed. He wills the ends of his lips to tug on a faint smile. “Of course.”

“What should I do then? I really want to take architecture but my parents are on my ass about me pursuing something in medicine.” Donghyuck asks, placing his books on his desk. Renjun takes a seat next to him, plopping his book bag onto the floor. He winces when it echoes a loud thud along the walls of the classroom. His wrist itches now.

“I think you should do what makes you happy, it’s your life.”

The words flow naturally past his lips. It seemed like the right thing to say. It leaves a sour taste on his tongue however and Renjun stores the thought of it at the back of his head. Donghyuck didn’t need the truth, he needed encouragement. Pretty words were always easier.

He hums and Renjun sees his face light up. The itch on his wrist grows and he pulls his sleeves higher past his fingers.

He’s lost count of how long he’s been staring at the ceiling fan spinning in the room. The scent of lilies wilting in a vase on his desk occupying his mind. The scent is strong and sweet enough to distract him of the bitter feeling in his chest. His nimble fingers pick at the wooly bedspread he’s lying above and it feels scratchy against his skin. Renjun knows every fibre in his body is screaming at him to get up, to go outside, to do _something_. But his chest is almost numb with the heavy weight weighing him down.

The bright, yellow sunflowers painted on the walls of his bedroom could wilt from the feeling of despair eminent in the room. And he feels it again, tingling on his wrist. The itch.

Its enough to make his eyes gloss over and lashes wet at he roughly tugs at his sleeve. There, on his wrist, lays the first outline of his fate - presented in a dark green vine, teasing just under the surface of his skin. Renjun knows what it means, and the small voice in his head tells him he deserves it. An unexpected giggle escapes past his lips, he should’ve known better.

That night Renjun dreams of a garden, one filled with beautiful flowers decorated with thorns as he wakes up to the searing pain shooting up his arm. He scurries to turn on his bedside lamp and howls when he feels the surface of his wrist split open. The lamp shines a yellow light on the gash decorating his wrist, a short but thick vine protruding out from under. He could clearly see the rest of it’s outline leading into his skin with the part exposed, covered in patches of his blood. He bites his tongue and heads to the bathroom to wash it off. The cold tap water hitting against his skin stings but Renjun clenches his jaw and forces the groans to the back of his throat. The dirty mirror placed above his sink prompts him to catch a glimpse of his reflection for the first time in a while - unrecognizable eyes staring back at him.

His skin had grown dull and dry, much like his dyed hair which color had started to fade - his brown roots peeking at his scalp. The dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks gracing his features makes his throat dry. But it’s the eyes that seemed to catch his attention the most, they look unfocused. He tears his gaze away from himself to focus back on his wrist.

The next few days are spent the same way. Dreams of beautiful gardens slowly start to morph into nightmares of graveyards filled with wilted flowers as Renjun jolts up to the pain of the vine growing longer each day. Long enough to wrap around his whole arm. Hiding it gets tedious after a while but Renjun makes it work. He knows he doesn’t have to put up with it for much longer, he only has so much time left.

The first petal blooms at the worst time.

His lips are raw as he gnaws on them repeatedly, staring out the classroom window with a dazed expression on his face. The sun is out and bright today and Renjun has never once yearned the feeling of its warmth against his skin like this before. He doesn’t remember the last time he wore something other than the long sleeves and oversized sweatshirts he’s been wearing, baggy enough to cover his arm.

The itch on his wrist is bearable now, a few light touches and it goes numb enough for him to ignore it for the next few hours. It comes back again but this time it sizzles around his veins and Renjun is thankful he wore a black sweater to school today - getting a random patch of blood on his sleeve was something he wasn’t quite sure how to explain just yet.

The sting doesn’t stop and he suppresses a yelp when the familiar feeling of his skin tearing wide open sends a shock throughout his body. Though this time, instead of his left wrist, he feels it on his right.

With a rushed excuse to the teacher, Renjun is already stumbling through the halls with an iron grip around his right wrist to stop it from shooting pain across his whole arm. He bursts into one of the cubicles, his back against the dirty door.

He haphazardly pulls his sleeve down. Under the fluorescent lights of the school’s bathroom, shines a beautiful orange marigold petal, peeking out of his wrist. He should've known.

Grief. It meant grief.

He isn’t surprised that Jaemin had been the first one to find out. He had always been the most tentative despite being the rather bubbly friend in their group. Renjun knew he didn’t have long and he was counting his days.

He takes a longer time walking back home after school, spends more time with everyone he knows and tries to smile more genuinely. He isn’t sure if they would miss him but it seemed like the right thing to do. His arms are getting stiffer though with the vines long enough for him to loop around his torso and the petals decorating his forearm had started to grow around his legs.

“Jun, can you do the dishes? I’ll set up the plates.” Jaemin rushes past him as soon as he walks into Mark’s kitchen. It was movie night for the whole group and Jaemin, as per usual, had offered to cook.

Renjun doesn’t come up with an excuse fast enough so he hums and sends him a smile, rolling his sleeves up just before his wrist - where the first flower had fully bloomed. Jaemin is walking around behind him, going from cabinet to cabinet and setting the table. He catches a glimpse of Renjun’s sleeves, the edges wet and soapy as wipes the plate dry.

“Renjun, you’re getting your sleeves wet. Here.” he could only blink in time before Jaemin reaches for his arms, attempting to roll his sleeves back. He doesn’t hold back the wince when the pull tugs onto the flower, numbing his skin. The blood drains completely from Jaemin’s face when he catches sight of the marigold, bright as if it was dipped in the sun itself.

The pan on the stove is long forgotten as Renjun spends the next few minutes explaining to Jaemin, who seemed thoroughly more bothered by it than Renjun himself. But he had accepted his fate the day he saw the hints of green vines roaming under his skin.

“It’s gonna okay Jun, I promise.” Jaemin says with tears pooling in his eyes, hand gripping onto Renjun’s. It was a lie. But Renjun knew Jaemin didn’t want to tell him the truth, That he didn’t need it, encouragement was better. Afterall, pretty words were always easier.

Renjun goes to bed that night and dreams of the beautiful garden once again. Beside it was endless fields of white roses, not one tainted and it knocks the breath out of his lungs. Flowers and vines don’t decorate every inch of his skin in this dream and for the first time in a long time, he feels free. He never wishes to leave.

So he doesn’t. He stays rooted in bed, long gone as the vines take over his body, pops of marigold blooming past his head to the tips of his toes. Thorns greet his lungs and squeeze through his heart as the sun shines through his window - granting him the warmth he had yearned for.


End file.
